Saber turned a few pages. “‘Dora,’” he read.
Goldie cocked her head. “All right. Angelica planted the roses in a dumb-lookin’ ring. She and Aunt Delia laughed at it. Dora came along, and she laughed too.”
“But these words occur on separate pages, Goldie. There are several damaged pages between them. We cannot connect the words as if they were all a part of the same sentence or even the same paragraph.”
“Well, that’s what I’ve been doin’,” she argued sassily. “In one really ruined diary, Aunt Delia wrote the word ‘marquis.’ Two pages later I made out the word ‘gold.’ The next page was ‘sapphire.’ The last words I could read were ‘lambs’ and ‘shoes.’ Put two and two together, Saber. It’s perfectly obvious to me that Aunt Delia saw some marquis who wore gold shoes. And on the gold shoes were lambs made with sapphires.”
Saber heard her chatter, but continued to stare at the diary. He remembered that Angelica had not been wearing her ruby engagement ring when her body had been returned to London. He’d always wondered what had happened to it, and now suspected that maybe Delia had known. But it wasn’t only the ring, he realized suddenly. It was Delia and Angelica’s laughter. What had they found funny? How had they spent their time together, and what had they discussed? And why had Dora been with them?
An eerie feeling began to nag at him, and he felt a profound need to solve these mysteries. But piecing together the information in the water-stained diaries and making sense of it was like trying to connect “one” to “one hundred” with no numbers in between.
Still, he had to know. Had to understand. His heart, his soul, his memories demanded it, and if it took years, he’d study each diary carefully. For surely there was more, he realized. More, much more, but what?
Like a slight, but steady drip of water, the strange feeling he had continued to bother him. His suspicions and frustration rose until a sudden thought soothed them. He’d hand over everything—the books, the reports, and the diaries—to Tyler Escott. And he’d pay the man a veritable fortune to uncover every hidden truth.
His decision made, he shoved suspicion from his mind. It would do him no good to dwell on it now. Dropping the diaries back into their sack, he realized that if he was going to take them to the city, Goldie would have to come along too. She wouldn’t part with her aunt’s treasures. “We’re leaving Leighwood,” he announced abruptly. “We’re going to London.”
She frowned at him. “But that’s what I’ve been tryin’ to tell—”
“I realize London wasn’t in your plans, but I—”
“Saber, I just told you that we—”
“You see, Goldie, it’s not proper for us to take advantage of our host’s generosity. He offered us his country home, but surely he didn’t mean we could stay here indefinitely. It’s time to leave.”
“Saber, I—”
“You’ll like London. We can continue with the duke lessons in the city as well as we can here. And Big has rejoined your uncle, so I really see no reason why you would balk at the idea of going.”
“But—”
“Addison...uh, gave me my allowance before he left, so you needn’t worry about finances. We have enough money for the trip. We’ll borrow our host’s coach and horses for the journey. I have a house in London, and you’ll stay there, of course. The house...was a present from Addison. So you see? There is no earthly reason why you should refuse to go. Now what is your decision?”
Goldie couldn’t for the life of her understand what had gotten into him, but she decided not to argue any further. Saber was asking her to go to London, and that’s exactly what she wanted to do anyway. She’d tell him about spyin’ on dukes as they traveled to the city. The journey would give her the perfect opportunity to talk him into it should he resist the idea.
Nodding at him, she looked at the bag he was holding so tightly. “Did you learn some good duke stuff while readin’ the diaries?” she asked. “Did you read the part about that marquis who wore purple satin pants? Do you think we should try and get you some like that? And did you get to the part about that earl who smelled like a woman? Aunt Delia wrote that he wore more perfume than Duke Marion’s mama. I like perfume, but I’ve never had any. I tried to make some one time though. I boiled some apple peel and vanilla beans together, then crushed it all up. But the vanilla turned my neck brown, and Big said I smelled like a pie. I would have used flowers, but it was almost winter, and there weren’t any more growin’.
“Harriet Orabel Gordon down in Beetle’s Elbow, Alabama, had her a bottle of perfume,” she continued. “I used to think her name was so funny. Her initials spell ‘Hog,’ y’see. But I didn’t ever call her Hog. Anyway, she was so scared to use all her perfume up that she hardly ever wore it. Then it was Wendell Snitch’s birthday, and Harriet was sweet on Wendell. So she put on some of her perfume to go to his birthday party. But the thing is she’d let that perfume sit for so long without ever usin’ it that it went rancid. I mean to tell you, the girl was ripe when she got to that party. Wendell’s mama made her go home and take a bath. Saber, do beetles really have elbows?”
Saber sat back down, feeling some of his tension leave him. Goldie’s soft chatter had such a soothing effect on him. Looking up at her, he was reminded of his promise to Big that he would take care of her. The thought wasn’t unpleasant in the least. In truth, he needed her as much as she needed him. Especially now. God, especially tonight.
“Goldie, I will not wear purple satin trousers, nor will I drown myself in sweet-smelling perfume,” he informed her firmly, but couldn’t help a slight grin when she looked at him with a you-will-if-I-say-you-will expression on her face.
With a toss of her head, Goldie threw her curls off her shoulders, then examined her nails. “Did you happen to notice that Aunt Delia didn’t write in the uncial way?” she queried offhandedly.
At the impish ascent of her brow, Saber’s grin widened. “Well, now that you mention it, yes, I did notice that.”
Goldie glared at him. “You don’t know what uncial means, Saber. Nobody knows that word ‘cept for the fella who wrote the dictionary. You’re just actin’ like you know it, aren’t you?”
More of his tension evaporated. He leaned back in his chair, folded his hands in his lap, and regarded her. She was in a sassy mood tonight. He liked it. “I think that perhaps it has something to do with making spelling errors.”
She smiled smugly. “Ha! Wrong.”
“Then is it a word for improper grammar?”
“Nope.”
“Poorly formed letters?”
“You’re way off, Saber.”
He loved her smug smile. “Then perhaps uncial is a handwriting employed in Greek and Latin manuscripts? Maybe one that was used from the fourth to the eighth centuries a.d.? Could it be, Miss Dictionary, that this handwriting of which you speak is made with rounded capital letters and cursive-like lower-case ones?”
Her face fell before she stuck her tongue out at him. “I always wondered what it would be like to be a genius. Now I know it’d be borin’. What’s the fun of knowin’ everything in the world? I think it’s more fun havin’ to look for answers. So what do you think about that, Mr. Fountain of Knowledge?”
“What do I think? I think we’re having a logomachy.”
She scowled. “You’re such a show-off. All right, tell me what logomachy means. I know you’re dyin’ to do it.”
“It’s a dispute about words.”
She wanted to remain miffed at him, but his crooked grin softened her. She giggled, reaching out to tweak his nose. “That little Marion was a happy little boy before his parents died, wasn’t he, Saber? Did you read the part that Aunt Delia wrote about him singin’ all the time? She said he always had a song whenever anyone wanted one. I bet he doesn’t sing and hum anymore though.”
He doesn’t, Saber answered silently. Suddenly he began to wonder if she should tell her the truth about who he was. It would certainly make things a lot easier in
London. And surely he could make her understand the need for discretion. If he could convince her of the importance of keeping his discoveries about Hutchins and Doyle a secret, she wouldn’t send word to Hallensham about having found him. After all, the bastards had stolen money from her aunt.
“Goldie,” he began, pausing for a long moment. “There’s something I have to tell you, poppet.”
He frowned when he saw pain deepen the color of her eyes, and realized he’d hurt her feelings. A fragment of comprehension came to him. “Poppet,” he told her. “I’ve called you that twice, and both times you’ve reacted as if I’d called you an offensive name. I told you the name means a small girl or a little doll. Do you find something insulting in that?”
She turned away, sliding off his desk. “I went fishin’ today and left you some fried fish in the kitchen. Whipped up some cornbread too. Well, I reckon I’ll go to bed now. We’ll probably leave for London real early. ‘Night, Saber.”
When she crossed to the door, he came out from behind his desk and strode toward her. “Not so fast, Goldie. You will not escape me tonight. I’ve asked you a question, and you’re going to answer it.”
“You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”
He felt like lying and telling her he wasn’t angry, but realized the truth was better in this situation. “Yes. I’m mad because you refuse to talk to me. Every time I come close to a subject that upsets you, you withdraw from me.”
She felt a tear trickle down her cheek and wished Big hadn’t left. She felt so alone without him. Especially now, with Saber mad at her.
That droplet on her cheek was sufficient water to drown Saber with remorse. God, what was the right way to get through to her? “Goldie—”
“I was so lonely when I came in here, Saber,” she told him, sniffling. “I paced the hallway for hours. You’ve been shut up in here since Big left.”
“Goldie, you’re trying to change the subject. Now tell me why—”
“This is the first time since I met Big that I’ve been away from him. Oh, Saber, I’ve been with him every single day for so long that I don’t know how to act without him. I wouldn’t have come in here to bother you, but I...I felt lonesome. I miss Big. He’s my best friend.”
Saber felt guilt slide through him. He had been in the library a long time. He should have considered how sad Goldie would be all alone without Big to keep her company.
He thought about the day when he, too, would be parting from her. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t help wondering if she would miss him like that too. “You’re lonesome for Big, but you’re not alone, Goldie,” he reminded her.
He placed his hand on her dainty shoulder. Friends could put their hands on friends’ shoulders, he told himself. It was only a simple gesture of affection.
But if that were so, why did the feel of her shoulder beneath his palm fill him with the desire to hold her and never let her go? Dear God, what special something was it she had that he craved so desperately? “You’re not alone,” he told her again, his voice as soft as he could make it.
His sentiment and touch sent Goldie straight into his arms. “Saber, I know dreams always go away, and I’m supposed to guard my heart, and we’re supposed to forget what’s happened between us, and we’re supposed to understand that it was all a mistake, but—”
“Goldie—”
“But this doesn’t have anything to do with figs, yellow bushes, or not bein’ able to swallow,” she continued, her eyes tightly closed as she slipped her arms around his waist. “This is about Big. Without him, it’s like a part of me is missin’. He’s always been there for me, and no matter what other people did to me, he helped me through it. And now he’s gone, and I’m so nervous without him, and what if somethin’ happens in London and I need him to help me? What will I do? And anyway, Saber, I can’t see why you would get mad at me or laugh at me. You can make it as light and short as you want. ‘Course I’ll understand if you don’t want to, but—Saber, please...please do it for me. Please—”
“Goldie, slow down,” he interrupted, trying desperately to understand her. “What is it you want me to do for you?”
Slowly, she raised her face to his. What she saw there set her heart aflutter. His eyes were glowing with that special softness. The wonderful sight gave her the courage to answer him. “Hug me,” she whispered. “Just one small hug!”
Her plea was for precisely the same thing he longed to do. He was filled with such tender emotions that he could not get hold of them before they consumed him. “Oh, Goldie,” he groaned. He pulled her closer to him, urged her face to his chest, and embraced her with all the concern and growing affection he felt for her.
If the sun had arms, Goldie mused, they wouldn’t be any warmer than Saber’s. Oh, how she loved being so close to him. “Thank you. Saber, thank you so much for this. You just can’t know what a hug does for me. I think it’s one of the nicest things in the whole wide world.”
The tenderness inside him grew to something stronger. She was grateful for a simple hug. A hug was free, and yet to Goldie it was priceless. Her simplicity, her humble pleasures... God, how he loved what they did to him! He buried his face in the wild mass atop her head, breathing in the sweet scent of those golden curls. Their pure fragrance reached his very soul.
“Goldie,” he whispered down to her, his voice refusing to come, “will you trust me to take Big’s place? If someone should do something to you—If you should need help in any way, will you put your faith in me?”
When she didn’t answer him, when she stiffened in his arms, Saber felt deep disappointment. He knew then he would have to earn her trust. He would have to deserve it.
Suddenly, her confidence in him was a treasure he wanted beyond all others. He’d wanted it yesterday, and he still wanted it today. Tonight, he decided, he would begin trying to earn it. “While you’re with me,” he told her softly, his lips still nuzzling her hair, “I’ll let no harm come to you. If anyone should dare to insult you, laugh at you, or become cross with you, I’ll rise to your defense just as Big did. While we’re together, I’ll take care of you, poppet.”
The name stung her again. She dropped her arms from around him.
At her action, Saber was reminded anew of her aversion to the word. He took her shoulders and gazed deeply into her eyes. “Tell me what you feel when I call you a poppet. We’ll stand here all night if necessary, but Goldie, you are going to tell me.”
She could tell by the tone of his voice and the expression on his face that he wanted a straight answer and that he wanted it right now. “No,” she told him, so quietly she could barely hear herself.
“Buy why?” Saber demanded, his frustration mounting steadily.
She felt dread slither through her. “Are you mad at—”
“No! Yes! I don’t know!” He saw her eyes widen at his shout and felt completely overwhelmed with confusion. “Goldie, I didn’t mean to raise my voice. I’m sorry. But I’m—You—Goldie, please tell me why the name poppet upsets you. Whatever your answer, I promise I won’t laugh or become angry.”
His eyes now looked even softer and gentler than before. She felt caution slipping slowly away.
“Tell me, Goldie.” His fingers smoothed across her shoulders.
She heard the concern in his chocolate voice, and wanted desperately to trust it. “You said—” she began quietly, blinking several times. “You said that poppet was a name for a small girl. A little doll.”
He watched pain flit across her face. “Is there something wrong with being likened to a small girl or a little doll?” He cupped her chin, lifting her face higher. “Tell me, Goldie. Tell me so I’ll understand.”
She dropped her gaze. More tears welled in her eyes; she watched them wet the back of Saber’s hand. “I hate being so little,” she whispered, her shoulders beginning to shake.
Comprehension flooded Saber. So many of her sad secrets became clear to him. “People make fun of your small stature, don’t they, Gol
die?” He stared at the top of her head, trying to remember every single thing she’d ever said to him since he first met her. “Yes. You commented once that Velma Somebody was tall and that that was the reason why Fred Wattle loved her. You said you didn’t deserve Fred. And your eyes. Yes, your eyes. That girl...somewhere in Kentucky. Her father owned the town. She said you had devil eyes. You think your gold eyes are ugly.”
“Saber—”
“Yellow bush. Your hair. You’ve been ridiculed about your curly hair, too. Someone said it looked like something a dog had been shaking around. And what else?” he mumbled, his mind hard at work summoning memories. “Freckles. The day I said you had seventeen freckles on your nose, you cried. I thought it was dew, but it was a tear, wasn’t it? You think your freckles are unattractive.”
She tried to break away from him, but he held her shoulders tighter. “And the day we first met,” he continued. “By the pond. I told you that if your performance in the water was any indication of your fighting abilities, you couldn’t pay me to ravish you. You thought I was telling you that you were too ugly to ravish. You—”
“Saber, I really have to go—”
“And figs,” he murmured. “Yesterday you said something about having unripened figs.” He drew her intimately close to him. “Figs, Goldie. And melons. Watermelons would be too big, but cantaloupes would be nice. You wept over fruit. What were you talking about when you told me I couldn’t imagine what it was like to have figs instead of melons? What—”
“Saber, let me go,” she insisted, struggling in vain to step away from him. “I—”
“You said something about how I would feel if instead of having muscle ropes, I had threads. You said—”
“Saber, please—”
He silenced her by pressing her face to his chest. His hands held her head captive. “Oh, Goldie. Figs. Breasts. Breasts like ripe melons. I’ve heard the expression. Goldie, you were speaking about your breasts, weren’t you?”
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